


Unstable

by jumbi



Series: Filling the Void [11]
Category: Super Paper Mario (Game)
Genre: Gen, Self-Esteem Issues, god they're so bored, pregame, they get a deck of cards after this, weird worlds are fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 06:36:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19126588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jumbi/pseuds/jumbi
Summary: the gang still exists in a state of transition. o'chunks has to be the pillar of stability under his two charges.





	Unstable

**Author's Note:**

> this short scene takes place in my larger comic story "filling the void". it takes place between scenes 65 (in which the gang upgrades their inter-world web maps) and 66 (in which nastasia and the count discuss the mysterious last two team members and she receives an unexpected apology).

This world was… ‘squishy’ was the only word that came to O’Chunks’ mind. Every step came at the cost of a wet squelch and a struggle to free his foot from the soggy pillow-like ground. It was even patchwork pillow-colored… so why did it have to be  _soggy_? It smelled like wet bedsheets that had been left on the mattress too long.

Eventually he and Nassy had had to call it quits and just set up camp in a relatively flat opening for the week. With the Count up and about, and fidgety and impatient, it was becoming a nightmare to find ways to pass the time if they weren’t moving. Even now, they had just finished cooking and eating a long breakfast and the Count was already scratching his claws against the ground, kneading his knuckles in when the surface gave.

O’Chunks ran his towel over the dishes while he watched Nastasia and the Count talk in low voices, leaned in close. Or, if he looked closely, Nastasia was talking to the Count while he struggled haltingly to say anything longer than three words at a time. Patience came easily to Nastasia and O’Chunks, after so many long nights of comfortable silence. And as the Count became better at condensing, the two of them had grown accustomed to finishing his sentences when he could no longer continue.

But Nassy was slowly sinking into the soft fabric of the ground. Every time O’Chunks glanced up, he could tell that she had become a little shorter compared to the Count, who had to look farther and farther down to maintain eye contact.  

He snorted as the Count growled and jerked his hand upward, and Nastasia  _schlooped_  back out of the ground. She braced herself against the Count’s offered arm to balance. He muttered something to her, but O’Chunks only caught the tail end of it.

“… Until the st-… until lunch.” The Count glanced over his shoulder at O’Chunks, who was shifting his weight back and forth in an effort to stay out of the ground himself.

“Do you want him to cut your weight in half?” Nastasia called.

O’Chunks stacked the last plate and turned to look for his bag, which was somewhere in one of the divots around their camp. “Cut me what?”

The Count huffed and rolled his eyes toward the soft pink sky, lost his balance, and toppled over backward onto the soft fabric. O’Chunks smirked. “It’d be much appreciated,” he amended. The Count waved his hand around idly and O’Chunks immediately felt the ground firm up under his feet. Or, he supposed, he had stopped pushing so hard against it.

O’Chunks hummed to himself as he stumbled around, checking each little hole. There was no reason to hurry. But they did need to find a better way to pass the time- even now, Nastasia was struggling to keep talking, to keep the Count’s attention off the Prognosticus. He couldn’t imagine finding a book long enough to keep the Count busy for more than a few days, but light enough to easily carry… And he was running out of folk tales. Boredom was unavoidable. He stopped himself from sighing. He had to keep his breathing shallow enough that the musk of the world wasn’t overwhelming. It was nearly making him nauseous, and they had only been there for a day. He hadn’t spotted any wildlife, but it was just as well. They were probably not edible, or in some form that he wasn’t recognizing as life. The worlds were full of surprises.

The next time he checked on them, Nastasia had sprawled out next to the Count. She was pointing at something above them. He couldn’t quite hear their mumbled conversation, but he caught the Count’s small grunts of acknowledgement every now and then. He frowned thoughtfully at his bag before he reached down to grab it. The Count didn’t usually bother giving an indication of whether he was listening or not.

He couldn’t tell at a glance, so it took him a few check-ins to notice, but the Count had been participating a little more because Nastasia was becoming very lethargic. O’Chunks blinked; she usually wasn’t the type to give in to drowsiness… at least, not in the middle of a conversation. His thoughts were interrupted by a sneezing fit.

“Is, um, everything okay over there…?” Nastasia turned her head vaguely in his direction.

“Yeh,” O’Chunks sniffed and swiped at his nose. “Jus’ the heavy air is puttin’ me chunks in the tumbler.”

The Count stared at Nastasia. “It is… pow- …overpowering, she said…”

That made sense. And the wee lass probably had a much more developed sense of smell, as a vampire and all…

The Count patted the ground firmly and sat up. He opened his mouth, then frowned and closed it. O’Chunks waited patiently while the frustration worked itself across the Count’s face. He eyed his book, then returned his gaze to Nastasia, then to O’Chunks, agitated and confused.

“Yeh can pick out what yeh want for lunch, if yeh need somethin’ t’do,” O’Chunks offered. The Count shook his head.

“I-if this w-world is… exhausting you, then you… should rest. Both of you,” he said.

“That’ll jus’ ruin our sleep schedule an’ make it hard to tell when it’s been a week.”

“But… you are tired,” he pressed.

O’Chunks paused. “It’s fine, Count. Really. Jus’ gotta look after the camp. It’s not as if there’s some hooligan or bear we haf’ta fight later.”

“C-Count Bleck can… look after…”

“We can take care of it, sir.” Nastasia yawned. “You don’t have to worry.”

The Count lifted his head imperiously. “You are th-the ones, who, have not slept a full night… Since l-last week…”

“… Are you trying teh take a night watch?” O’Chunks raised an eyebrow.

He blinked slowly. The air  _had_  to be affecting him, but O’Chunks had to credit the Count for how well he was hiding it. “Count Bleck… c… can…”

“ _No_ ,” Nastasia cut in. “Boss, with all due respect, you just can’t keep watch for us. ‘K?”

The Count’s ears dropped. “Wh… What did you just…”

O’Chunks opened his mouth, then closed it and watched Nastasia.

“This world is safe, yeah, but… What if you wander off again, sir?”

He didn’t hear a response other than a low hissing sound. The Count’s eyes were practically sparking.

“Yeah, so,” she continued. “And, and, if you skip sleep, you’ll start losing memories again… No, absolutely not.” She shook her head. “Count, you might not ever be able to do a night watch again.”

The Count had stood, but he seemed unable to figure out what to do with himself. His good ear was twitching furiously, and O’Chunks could just make out the outlines of all his fangs drawing back.

“You d-don’t… You cannot know that!” he snarled. “It could be fine. Count Bleck can… He can do it! It  _isn’t difficult_.”

Nastasia seemed oblivious to the Count’s temper tantrum, but O’Chunks couldn’t help but eye the book as it drew up higher and higher along the Count’s shoulder. “Don’t get yerself too worked up, Count,” he warned.

The Count jerked over to focus his glare on O’Chunks. He was practically vibrating, completely failing to conceal his rage. He grimaced and grabbed his head with both hands, then turned and barreled into their tent, the book hovering after like a horrible fly.

“Count…” Nassy turned her head, but didn’t seem able to get up to follow.

“I’ll…” O’Chunks started, striding after him and stepping carefully over Nastasia. He didn’t need to finish. He tugged at the tent’s door flap, but- he blinked in confusion. The fabric was stiff as stone. He struggled to get a handhold.

“Count- did you-“ he spluttered. “Unlock the door!”

No response.

O’Chunks groaned, his head turned toward the sky. “Let me in.”

He gave it a minute, but the Count remained silent. He fumbled at the tent’s flap, unable to get any of the rigid fabric between his fingers. “Count!” he called.

After another minute, O’Chunks steeled himself with a deep breath. “I know yeh can hear me, yeh loony purple potato!”

Nastasia snorted. “Don’t call him that.”

“Go away.”

O’Chunks gritted his teeth. “Where would yeh ‘ave us go, Count? We dinnae exactly have another tent we can pull out.”

“He wants to be alone,” Nastasia said, still laying on her back. “So let him cool off. ‘K?”

O’Chunks ran his hand along his head. “Nassy, that cannae work every time. This will only be resolved if we can talk about it. Else we’ll be stuck comin’ back teh th’same fight again and again like servings of me mum’s stew. ‘Specially if…” he trailed off. If the Count forgot they’d had this argument, he would be just as petulant and unreasonable next time.

No. They had to work it out now. Nassy wouldn’t be as laid-back next time.

“Count,” he repeated. “Please?”  

The fabric of the tent loosened against O’Chunks’ fingers. He tugged it open and crawled in, crouched all the way on his hands and knees. The Count was laying on his side, arms crossed, facing away from the entrance. O’Chunks stopped himself from reaching out and instead parked himself in front of the entrance, as far from the Count as he could stay. It seemed right to leave a little wiggle room between the two of them.

The air was hot and wet under the canopy. If he listened, he could hear the Count’s efforts to breathe. O’Chunks tugged at his collar- he didn’t realize that, the previous night, the Count had been drying the air somehow, for them. He spent a few moments wondering how late the Count had stayed up. He should have been sleeping.

“Count…” O’Chunks started.

His only response was a ragged sigh.

He rubbed the back of his head. “Eh, sorry I called yeh a potato.” This was okay. He’d had lots of one-sided conversations with the Count, before. He’d even gotten multiple tries at some of them.

It was killing him.

“… Yeh may nae be able t’keep watch fer us by yerself, but…” He glanced around. The Count waited. “If yeh wanna keep one of us company, an’ help us stay awake… We could do tha’.”

It was a weak compromise, and fairly transparent.

“Y-you would… simp-ply… extend the night watches.” Yeah, he saw right through it.

O’Chunks took a deep breath that grew into a yawn. He waited another moment. “… D’yeh wanna talk ab-“

“ _I am not a child!_ ” the Count shouted. He had lifted and turned himself in one motion, nearly faster than O’Chunks’ eye could follow. O’Chunks hesitated, carefully keeping his eye on the Count’s bright, sparking eyes, and away from the damp streaks under them. The book remained on the ground, which was his only comfort.

“Never said yeh were,” he replied slowly, lifting his hand back to his collar. For all the Count’s fire, at least the small enclosed spaces never got hotter.

The Count panted and clutched at the fluff on his head with a claw, squinting his eyes shut. “It’s… Count Bleck can still do it…”

“Do what?”

“You know!” He grimaced again and shuddered. “The… the camp! The guard!”

“Can yeh use yer…” O’Chunks paused. “Can yeh put it in more words?” he said instead.

The Count stared at him. “Count Bleck is… useless… like this…”

Ah, there was the anguish. O’Chunks carefully ignored the sniffling and forced himself not to move. “Useless?” He drew his brows together. “Count, yer always fixin’ everything for us. Even when yeh weren’t talkin’, Nassy ne’er coulda learned t’cook without yeh fixing the pots over and over. How many times ‘ave yeh mended me favorite shirt?”

The Count frowned.

O’Chunks shrugged. “Even I cannae know tha’.”

The Count’s patience for talking was running out. He probably didn’t want O’Chunks to see him like this… however much O’Chunks had seen him as he was, before. O’Chunks leaned back on his feet. “Jus’ because yeh cannae do one thing, don’t mean yeh cannae do another, Count.” He pushed back out of the tent.

He stood and shook out his arms. It had taken every ounce of his self-control not to hug the poor lad. He nearly bowled over Nastasia when he stepped forward.

“… Yeh could stand t’be more subtle,” he whispered, blinking down at her.

Nastasia shuffled. “I just, um, wanted to make sure… he didn’t need anything…” She picked at her claws.

He shrugged, uncertain. “Maybe one of these days he’ll ask.”


End file.
